


The Woman of a Thousand Faces

by PrincessBethoc



Category: Holby City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 10:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessBethoc/pseuds/PrincessBethoc
Summary: It’s only as she sits on the stairs outside of Keller ward that she consciously realises that she’s a shapeshifter. She can change with the light and the dark, with the sun and the moon. Whether that is a good way to be…well, she is perhaps not the woman to ask. All she knows is she has her thousand faces, and she can change them at will.Set after 'A Simple Lie, Part 2'





	The Woman of a Thousand Faces

She is the woman of a thousand faces. Perhaps not _always_ truthful, but she tries to be kind. She tries to be whatever, whoever, those around her need her to be. It’s what makes her the best person to head the Young Adult Unit. She knows what she needs to be at any given moment. Of course, the truth shall always have to be told, but it should always be told in the right way, at the right time.

Not that Angel Godard is perfect – that is the last word she would use to describe herself – but she tries her best to melt into the mould in front of her.

It’s only as she sits on the stairs outside of Keller ward that she consciously realises that she’s a shapeshifter. She can change with the light and the dark, with the sun and the moon. Whether that is a good way to be…well, she is perhaps not the woman to ask. All she knows is she has her thousand faces, and she can change them at will.

That ability is what instilled in her the fierce desire to tell the truth. Those faces can tell nearly a thousand lies, but it has never brought her any joy. No, down that road lies madness and destruction. This is why she can never understand why she still does it. She knows what it brings. It is so rarely worth the pain involved when it all inevitably collapses to reveal the complicated truth. After all, when is the truth ever simple? If the truth were simple, nobody would ever lie. There would never be a need to.

The truth always carries its flaws, and only because there is nothing in this world perfect. Why, then, do so many people expect perfection from this world and the humans who call it home? Perfection has never been part of what it is to be a human being, has it?

Holly Cartwright’s parents love her. That’s why they chased perfection. They wanted perfection for their daughter, like any mother does.

But perfection in itself is always a lie. She knows that well; after all, she is a walking, talking lie. She exudes compassion and skill, the perfect doctor for a vulnerable young person. Little do they know what a liar she is.

A hand falls gently onto her shoulder. “You should get some rest, Ange,” he says.

She turns her head; Dominic Copeland sits next to her. She had been so lost in her own head that she had not heard him approach. “So should you,” she tells him.

“I’ll be fine,” he replies with a smile. “I always am.”

So he is a liar, too.

“The world doesn’t stop turning for our crises, does it?” she sighs.

He gives a quietly bitter laugh. “No. Absolutely not.”

She watches his face; the smile flickers like an open flame in a hurricane, but he somehow manages to keep it alight.

“We spend our whole lives doing this,” she says. “We give our _entire_ lives to this job. Sometimes I wonder why we do that.”

He shrugs. “Careerism, I suppose.”

She smirks at him. “No, I don’t buy that, Dom. You want to be the best – God knows we all do – but it’s not careerism. If it were, I don’t think you’d’ve lasted two minutes on Keller.”

The air condenses into silence. Maybe he will tell her the truth. Maybe he will tell her a lie. Or maybe he will tell her nothing at all. Sometimes a lie is best told by omission.

That seems to be his choice tonight. He will tell her nothing. She will expect nothing. She has no right to expect anything of anyone, really, except that they do no harm. Her own track record on that front is hardly impeccable, but she convinces herself that her intent is more important that the outcome. In this life, there are times when that is the only way she knows how to live with herself.

“This job is a force for good,” he says. His mumble bounces off the stairs and the walls, echoing like he is a broken record. “That’s why we do it. It’s our contribution towards a better world.”

She cannot help but let a rather undignified scoff escape her. “Even with the likes of Holly?”

“Especially with the likes of Holly. Those parents had no idea what was waiting for them in America. Years of expense and heartache, all for the promise that Holly _might_ live. You might not have been able to save Holly’s life, but you’ve saved her and her parents from that.”

“Yeah, but look what happened! Fletch’s son-”

“That was more to do with Amira than anything else. It could have happened either way. She just used Holly’s case to justify it to herself. It could have been any case, any doctor, anybody’s child. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

In a perfect world, the blame would be split proportionally between the people who caused Theo to be taken, but the world is not perfect. Holly’s case fuelled the protest, and the protest fuelled a very ill young woman to take someone’s child. In amongst all that, she really has tried her best to do what is right.

Sometimes, though, that is not enough. Sometimes, the train veers off the tracks despite every effort to keep it from jumping. Sometimes, it really is just a chain reaction of tragedies.

The concern in his face unnerves her, though, and so she chooses a face. She chooses a lie. She chooses her words carefully. “It’s just been a long day. A long month, if I’m honest,” she half-laughs.

His expression lightens with her laughter, reassured by her lie. “Like I said, you should get some rest,” he reminds her. He gets to his feet and stands to face her a few steps below, his outstretched hand squeezing her shoulder gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nods. “See you tomorrow.”

His footsteps ring in her ears as he makes his way to the ground floor. To his home. To his safe place. And he, she sees, is like her. A chameleon. A person with the ability to change with the light and the dark, with the sun and the moon. The difference between them is that he has learned when to stay the same. He knows when he must simply be Dominic, and nothing else.

She doesn’t know how to do that; she is far from convinced that she could ever master that skill.

And here she sits, alone on the stairs. A woman of a thousand faces. Nine-hundred and ninety-nine of them are the faces of a liar. The one that holds the truth, she keeps to herself. To the rest of the world, she must always be a shapeshifter.


End file.
